Crystal River current. [volume] (Crystal, Colo.) 1886-18??, 1887-06-04
ROME IN 1879.

Plus TX. Mt the Point OF Death
stirring Times for Italy.
There are some people who seem to
owe every important event in their
lives to chance. With others these
leading features are always traceable
as the result of some definite organized
plan. Their lives are mapped out be-
fore them, either by themselves or by
those around them. 1t has always
been question in my mind whether
this fact is the result of the individuals
nature OF whether it is chargable to the
! destiny that presides over our human
affairs. There are advantages in both
of these sort of existences which one
might divide into the expected and the
unexpected lives. Those people who
lead the former undoubtedly accom-
plsh great deal more. Every hour
in The twenty-four is weighed. every
minute in the hour has its task or
pleasures allotted to it. Duties and
diversions are dovetailed into each
other, making Il most delightfully."-
smooth and even mosaic pattern, along
the life path, that leads no man knows
whittier On the other hand, to your
interpreting person life is full of sur
prises. joyous sometimes, and again full
of pain. 1t is to be doubted if those
born under the influence OF that oldest
of elements which we call chance ever
accomplished as much as the more
methodically born class. On the other
hand. it may be urged that they feel
more 'imprecU--the unforeseen--is the
yelled deity which governs their deity.
Their joys come unattended and sur
| prise them gloriously; their griefs come
| upon them unawares. unlocked for,
and crush them to the very earth. If
such u one lose his nearest friend you
will find that he has never faced the
possibility of such II loss. If fortune
is suddenly left him be sure he will
have no preconceived ideas of how he
will spend it, and most likely he will
| lose a great deal of time and possibly
| a good portion of the inheritance in
learning how it may best be empolyed.
But of all the fond and foolish pursuits
which human be ngs indulge in the
most futile is the attempt to change
ones nature from the expected to the
unexpected. and v ce versa. | have
often seen persons born to bloom with
the symmetry and perfection OF the dahl
liza wearing themselves out with the
vain effort 10 grow in the graceful but
uncertain lines of the passion flower vine
Nothing is more pathetic than this waste
of effort, unless 1t he the not less infre-
Guent spectacle of Il understanding.
fragrant honeysuckle setting up to
grow with the splendid dignity of
Marechal Neil rose. Not that one is
not bound to train and prume ones ma
tnre into the best possible shape. If
child is born rose it is the obv Gus du-
ty OF its parents or guardians to make
as good Il rose of il as they can, and it
is the child's duty to supplement their
effort; but, in the name of truth. let not
either parent or guardian attempt to
train. nor rose try to grow, into Il grape
| vine.
1t Is to that vague and mysterious
chance that l owe most of the import
ant events and relationships of my life.
1t was BY an odd series of chances that
/ found myself in Rome in the early
spring. of the year 1879. the most
eventful year for the Eternal city since
that season when Victor Emmanuel
and his court came to take up their
abode in the place of the Caesars
| What n time of excitement it was! III
Re Gallant Uomo lay dying at the
Quirinal. At the Vatican his old enc
my Plus IN. was stricken, too. by Il
mortal disease. The king, always a
| good Catholic. it was said. had sent to
ask the holy father for his blessing and
all Rome held its breath and waited.
Would the head of the fallen power for
give his victorious eaemy, now that
both were SO soon to yield 10 the uni
versal conquerorP Would the great
soldier and the good and gentle priest
who had wagcd such bitter war; die at
peace with one another? Messenger
after messenger was dispatched from
the chamber of death on Quirinal hill
to the sick room of the prisoner of the
Vatican. They all came back silent.
till at last one humble monk, who had
prayed long beside the dying king, was
sent. and came back bringing with him
"a promise of peace. 1t was not the
king, Victor Emmanuel, who asked
forgiveness for his heroic life. for his
glorious action-the freeing of Italy
but it was the man, human and faulty,
asking absolution ut the hands of the
high priest of his religion. All this
may be history, it may be fable; can
not vouch for it; but it was what was
said. VIII spered rather. at every
street corner in Rome. The city was
shaken 10 its foundation; the heart of
the people was stirred to its Utmost
depth. Even the Indifferent foreign
colonies of expatriated English and
Americans were swayed by the tremend-
Gus passion of the moment. The kings
hour came. The great captain passed
away, and the city sat and mourned in
sackcloth and ashes. A great wall
went up from the party of the whites.
and even the blacks were magnanimous
and silent. They, too. were soon to
lose the good man who had SO long
stood at their head. Italy mourned her
fallen hero; but, when the time had
come to lay away what was mortal of
the beloved son. she arose and clad her.
self in garments of of somber splendor,
/ and made of him n funeral the Lilo Of